farewell, my sister
by BadWolf95
Summary: She lies spread-eagled on the floor, left there by the hooded Death Eater who ran without a backward glance. / DH non-compliant, AU Battle of Hogwarts.


**_farewell, my sister_**

She lies spread-eagled on the floor, left there by the hooded Death Eater who ran without a backward glance. Her eyes are open in a rare moment of surprise (why was she surprised? She had planned for this for days, weeks, all that time spent under the beech tree with a mountain of books and a busy quill).

You tell yourself it is not her, it cannot possibly be her, she was with you just a moment ago when the Dementors stormed the castle walls. She had cast her silver otter and let it join your father's stag, chasing away the creatures preying on the despair of the Muggle-borns gathered in the Entrance Hall. You had shared a grim smile with her, feeling no need for words, and each had gone in opposite directions to do what was necessary to defend the castle.

It is unmistakeable. That bushy, brown hair forming a halo around her face. Her vine wand rests in her hands and you can almost believe she has only fallen and will rise at a moment's notice, wand gripped tightly in her fingers, ready to do battle with each and every one of Voldemort's forces. You want to believe it, oh so desperately. But you have seen too much blood today to let yourself be deluded by your heart.

You should stand, you should turn and raise your wand and you should let every last Death Eater, Dementor, giant, acromantula feel your pain and your grief. You should slay them by the dozen. Remorse should be part of your arsenal no longer. You should _kill_.

You can't. You are paralysed, your knees refuse to move, your arms hang by your sides in an expression of hopelessness, of despondent futility. It is too much, finally, at last, after all this time, it has become too much. A year ago, you knelt like this by someone like her. His eyes too were blank and held no answers. Then, too, you wanted to cry and let the heavens break over your head, if only they could stop your aching pain.

You suppose you should have seen this coming. It had been going too well for it to continue that way. Mad-Eye's lucky escape from Azkaban (no doubt Voldemort saw it a poetic justice – the man famed for locking up so many now under chains and bolts himself) had been celebrated in hushed whispers among those still faithful to Dumbledore and to you. The news of the defeat of Fenrir Greyback by Remus in a fierce duel in which the savage had the upper hand had found its way to you in the remote West Country cottage you'd shared with the five others who had fought at the Department of Mysteries so many years ago.

These victories had given your hope, had rekindled the flame you all felt in your hearts. It was too good to last. You should have known.

And now Ron is here, and he is shouting and he has thrown you across the empty classroom in his anguish. You cannot blame him. Ron, who has loved her for as long as you can remember, is the only one who can possibly imagine what you are feeling because he too has the same biting, clawing in his chest. You both want to get away from each other. This is the one thing you had never visualised happening.

Sometimes when you were left alone in your box-sized room in the attic (you chose it because it reminded you of somewhere Sirius would have liked to live, if he could have chosen where to spend his time in hiding) and you had nothing to say to anyone or after a piece of particularly traumatic news concerning someone you had known at school, you would let yourself imagine the aftermath of the war.

You had pictured Ron's lifeless body; Remus (it was easiest to imagine him gone, perhaps it would be kinder if he was gone and did not have to face the world on his own, instead enjoying the company of his old friends again) lying by the foot of an old tree in a forest somewhere; Hagrid fighting to the death for his right to live and protect his home; even sometimes Mr and Mrs Weasley, defending their family at any cost and perhaps seeing each of their children celebrating a victory above all victories, scarred but whole. It is impossible to think of any of the Weasleys as not involved in the battle, they have more than most to fight for – their safety, their future, their honour, Molly Weasley's brothers who died like heroes. Their togetherness inspired you, still inspires you.

You would comfort him, if you did not know him as well as you do. Ron needs time. You both need time. You manage to force out a weak,

"I'm sorry."

You know it does not mean anything; this loss goes far deeper than words. But it will do for now.

Hating yourself for this final act of abandonment, of betrayal, you take hold of her motionless body and cradle her head in your arms. You brush her eyelids closed, her lashes butterfly kiss your finger. You do not need words to tell her how much you will miss her, how much you need her, or how you never told her any of the things running through your mind now. It doesn't matter. She knew.

You drag her as gently as you can to a corner of the room where you can be sure she won't be spotted, while Ron watches. His fists are still clenched, he is breathing heavily but he is silent. You place her wand hand on her chest and the other over it. This is as dignified a resting place as you can afford to give her right now. Perhaps when you have won (_if_, you correct, winning no longer seems so plausible) you can give her a burial fit for the most gifted witch since Rowena Ravenclaw. Yes, you will bury her beside Dumbledore and try to go on. You do not think you will be able to.

As you kiss her forehead one last time and turn to walk out of the door and back out into the fray, you hear Ron's footsteps behind you, following. He will follow you until either of you dies, and then he will make his own path – finding Hermione, or defeating Voldemort himself.

Your resolve strengthens in a sudden burst of righteous sorrow. This is one more reason to ensure Voldemort dies tonight. And you will make sure of it, for yourself, for Ron, and for the beautiful girl you are walking away from.


End file.
